


After Laughter

by queerscreaming



Series: Stickball Junkies [3]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Music Store, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Band Fic, Bassist!Aaron, Drummer!Andrew, Guitarist!Nicky, Inspired by Music, Keyboardist!Kevin, M/M, Musicians, Pre-Slash, Singer/Songwriter!Neil, and the album it's on after laughter, inspired by fake happy by paramore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 05:16:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20522558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerscreaming/pseuds/queerscreaming
Summary: “Kevin Day, keyboardist and producer” he said, then turned slightly to point to his companions. “Andrew is our drummer, Aaron our bassist, and Nicky our lead guitarist and current vocalist.” Kevin turned back to Neil at this point, question in his eyes. “Though, we’ve been meaning to find a replacement for the vocals. You’re the best we’ve encountered thus far.”Neil gave him a skeptical look. “Was that your invitation?” he asked sarcastically.“No,” Andrew spoke up. “This is: join EXY as our vocalist and second guitarist?”Neil took a deep breath, eyes closed, and then answered.“Yeah, I think I could do that.”





	After Laughter

Neil didn’t know what possessed him to enter the shop, one that so many others would (and clearly had) have just walked past, might not have even noticed at all. From the state of the storefront’s exterior alone, it was obvious that business wasn’t exactly booming--and perhaps for a reason. A reason that Neil should have considered before pushing open the glass door, jingling the bell to signal his arrival 

Maybe it was exactly that--the shop’s broken and hidden nature. Maybe it was the contrast of the sleek, well taken care of, hand crafted instruments to the shabby building in which they were housed. Maybe it was the Twelfth Night quote painted on the window in winding, looping letters, “If music be the food of love, play on; Give me excess of it, that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die.” Maybe it was that Neil was tired of hiding away from the only thing he’d really loved. 

Whatever the reason, Neil was drawn to The Falsetto Fox and the promises it held. His throat buzzed and fingers yearned at the thought of taking down one of those guitars, letting his digits fly across the frets and strings, and let himself use his voice in the way that came easiest to him. 

Just this once, he told himself, he would allow himself to indulge in his lost love. 

There didn’t appear to be anyone in the store, so Neil let himself drift aimlessly, letting his feet and his eyes move him where they saw best. He let his fingertips skim over piano keys and cymbals, carefully pluck the strings of ukuleles and basses, and his gaze linger longingly over the various types and models of guitars, too afraid to touch one after going so long without doing so in a public setting. It had only been in the last six months that he’d even allowed himself to do so in private. 

But, the longer he stared, the harder it became to resist, the harder it became to find reason in the warnings on loop in his head. He was safe now, anyway, right? He’d been settled in his new identity and new life with Uncle Stuart for nearly a year now. No one was out to get him anymore; his father was dead, his people in prison, and his mother in institutional care where she could still be in his life without passing on her own trauma on to and creating more for Neil. 

Though, as sound as this logic was, Neil’s fingers still trembled as he took down one of the display guitars--an acoustic model with a gleaming, burnt orange body and white markings on the frets of the neck. He breathed deep and shaky as he slung the strap over his shoulder and held the instrument to his chest. His fingers found their place almost on autopilot and as Neil closed his eyes, they began to play the song that’d been haunting his mind the last few weeks.

“ _ I love making you believe what you get is what you see, but I'm so fake happy...I feel so fake happy… _ ”

His voice came out weak and soft at first, but as he let the lyrics and notes he’d been fiddling and fixing in nearly every free moment he had spilled from his mouth, vibrated through his vocal chords, he found himself becoming bolder and louder as he sang. 

“ _ And I bet everybody here is just as insincere… We're all so fake happy and I know fake happy… _ ”

“What song is that?” 

Neil nearly toppled over in his surprise, not expecting the interruption or for it to be brought by such an abrasive voice. He turned around and found a tall boy with black hair, dark green eyes, and ruddy brown skin frowning at him. He couldn’t have been more than a few years older than Neil, but the severity of his expression and posture gave him the air of someone much older. 

“I’m sorry,” Neil murmured. “I should have asked before taking down the instrument. I’ll put it away and just go--”

“You didn’t answer me,” the boy interrupted, his frown becoming more pronounced. “What song was that? I’ve never heard it before.” 

Neil felt his cheeks heat and his hands tremble. 

“Oh,” he breathed. “Um… it doesn’t have a name yet.”

“What does that mean?” The other asked, exasperation written plainly across his face. 

“It uh…” Neil stammered. “It means that it’s my song and… well it’s not quite finished yet.”

The other boy raised a brow before his expression shifted to something more thoughtful. He raised a finger, signaling Neil to wait (for what he didn’t know, was almost afraid to know), then made a beeline for one of the Yamaha synthesizers against the back wall. Neil was confused and anxious, but curious. If he hadn’t been, he’d probably pushed past the other boy and out the door of the shop far sooner. As it was, he’d stayed put as instructed, guitar still slung across his body. 

“Ok,” the other said once he was settled in front of the synth. “Play again from the beginning and don’t stop that time.”

Neil wanted to argue, mostly for the sake of it, but his curiosity pushed him to do as the dark haired boy said, continuing past the softer first verses he’d sung before getting ready to ramp up the energy for the rest of the piece. 

_ “I been doing a good job of makin' 'em think I'm quite alright, but I hope I don't blink… _ ”

Neil almost stopped playing when the boy entered the piece with harsh, staccato notes on the synth, but with the other’s encouraging nod and the way his blood sang with the sound they'd created together, he pushed aside his apprehension and continued on with the song that until that point, he’d only written lyrics and a meager melody for. 

“ _ If I smile with my teeth, bet you believe me if I smile with my teeth… I think I believe me… _ ”

If he wasn’t so lost in the power he felt as he belted out notes and cut his fingers on the steel strings of the orange beauty in his arms, the rightness of the other boy’s 80’s pop-esque notes being beat out of the Yamaha, he may have noticed that a drum beat had joined their duo and another three sets of eyes had their gaze locked on his form. 

“ _ Oh please, just don't ask me how I've been, don't make me play pretend! Oh no, oh no, oh what's the use? Oh please, I bet everybody here is fake happy too… Oh please, I bet everybody here is fake happy too… _ ”

Coming out of the song was like waking up from an intense dream. He was breathing hard, his skin lightly flushed, and his heart was beating with a mixture of anxiety and euphoria that only performing and writing music could give him outside of his dreams. The endorphins flooding his system had Neil feeling better than he could ever remember feeling; almost like he was flying. 

He opened his eyes (that he hadn’t realized he’d closed until then) and turned to the other boy to find three others beside him. A pair of identical twins with short, pale blonde hair, hooded, hazel eyes, and short, stocky bodies--one of which was sitting behind a drum kit, his black banded arms folded over a pair of sticks. The other twin was joined by a man that must have been in his early-mid twenties, only slightly shorter than the synth player, black curls that fell just past his chin, almond shaped dark brown eyes, and even darker brown skin. They were all staring at him, their expressions ranging in emotion. 

“Holy shit,” older of the four laughed. “That was incredible! Did you write that?”

Neil could feel his whole body trembling, not enough for anyone else to notice unless right beside him, but trembling regardless. He nodded and gave a feeble smile. 

“It’s not--it’s not totally finished yet,” he mumbled. “But, yeah… it’s mine.”

“He’s exactly what we’ve been looking for,” the first of the strangers said to the other, turning in his seat at the synth to face the other three surrounding the drum set. “Isn’t he? Tell me I’m wrong.”

“He’s just a kid, though,” the twin not behind the drums spat, eyeing Neil skeptically.

Neil felt his skin heat further in annoyance and embarrassment. He puffed out his chest and jutted out his chin, brows furrowed. 

“I’m not that young…I’m nineteen--which can’t be much younger than you,” Neil retorted. 

“Yeah, that’s only two years younger than you and Andrew, Aaron,” the boy with the longer hair exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement.

While the non-drummer twin and the other boy bickered, Neil watched on and caught a subtle look exchanged between the drummer and the keyboardist that had joined Neil in his song. When the drummer looked Neil’s way, he gave his an apathetic but assessing once over. Neil raised a brow in response, masking the way his heart rate picked up at the action. 

The drummer raised his hand, silencing the other two near immediately. Neil’s other brow met his other before his could stop it. 

“Ever wanted to be a part of a band, kid?” the drummer asked, face and voice as impassive and monotonous as ever.

Neil bit his lip, his first reaction being panic and an intense need to run. But, that same desire that had drawn him into the shop in the first place caused him to pause and truly consider the question. He was so tired of denying himself, especially now that he was technically free from his demons. 

“Not really,” he answered honestly. “But, I wouldn’t turn down the opportunity, if you’re providing me with one.” 

The keyboardist’s chest puffed out and he strode over to Neil with his hand outstretched. 

“Kevin Day, keyboardist and producer” he said, then turned slightly to point to his companions. “Andrew is our drummer, Aaron our bassist, and Nicky our lead guitarist and current vocalist.” Kevin turned back to Neil at this point, question in his eyes. “Though, we’ve been meaning to find a replacement for the vocals. You’re the best we’ve encountered thus far.”

Neil gave him a skeptical look. “Was that your invitation?” he asked sarcastically. 

“No,” Andrew spoke up. “This is: join EXY as our vocalist and second guitarist?”

Neil took a deep breath, eyes closed, and then answered. 

“Yeah, I think I could do that.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist that spawned after this fic: 
> 
> "i'm not your answer (and you sure as fuck aren't mine"
> 
> RIP 2 My Youth - The Neighborhood  
NO HALO - BROCKHAMPTON  
Misery Without Company - Sarah Shook and the Disarmers  
NEW ORLEANS - BROCKHAMPTON  
Nobody - Hozier  
Lesson - Sarah Shook and the Disarmers  
Fake Happy -Paramore  
Ain't It Fun - Paramore  
Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer  
GINGER - BROCKHAMPTON  
Sober - Lorde  
SAN MARCOS - BROCKHAMPTON  
Good As Gold - Sarah Shook and the Disarmers  
QUEER - BROCKHAMPTON  
Easier - 5 Seconds of Summer  
Calm Down aka I Should Not Be Alone - Ezra Miller  
26 - Paramore  
BIG BOY - BROCKHAMPTON  
Wasteland, Baby! - Hozier  
Everything Will Be Alright - The Killers  
Future - Paramore


End file.
